


Sequins of Events

by orgiastique



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Idols, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boyband, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Moving In Together, Non-Linear Narrative, Passage of time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28179132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orgiastique/pseuds/orgiastique
Summary: In a week, a bumbling confession.Tomorrow, a kiss.Today, an observation.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 86
Collections: Sylvix Advent Calendar





	Sequins of Events

**Author's Note:**

> i had such a blast collabing with the talented [@twv_meli](https://twitter.com/twv_meli) on this project for [@SylvixCalendar](https://twitter.com/SylvixCalendar)! highly encourage you to check out the other works in the collection - they're all so full of love and holiday cheer. shout-out to [quietgal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietgal/pseuds/quietgal) for betaing! read her amazing sylvix calendar piece [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27865941)!
> 
> please give lots and lots of love to pam for their GORGEOUS art [here](https://twitter.com/twv_meli/status/1340436335459356672) and [here](https://twitter.com/twv_meli/status/1340436342816182272)!

In a year, Sylvain will play Christmas carols for Felix on a grand piano that was too big for his city apartment.

In ten months, they will move Sylvain and his Steinway into Felix's house.

In eight months, they will realize that they miss each other, even though they work together almost every day.

In six months, Felix will be checking a magazine pre-print and realize that all of Sylvain's answers are about him.

In four months, Sylvain will have a freak-out, followed by an epiphany.

In two months, they will name the song they wrote together.

In a week, a bumbling confession.

Tomorrow, a kiss.

Today, an observation.

**two months from now ;**

_promise song_

That's all the text from Sylvain says. Felix frowns at it for a good minute or two as he continues to sip his tea.

 _What are you talking about,_ he texts back when he gives up on decoding the message. _Is filming over_?

Sylvain is currently on set filming a TV series that management thinks has a good chance of propelling the Blue Lions back among the stars. The question is brushed aside, which Felix takes for a "no".

 _that's what we should name it._  
_our song_

Ah. They hadn't touched the song they wrote for the upcoming album for so long since they first wrote it that it'd dropped off Felix's radar altogether. Not that it means any less to him, but it's about a future that he is currently living and that's so much better than just dreaming about it through a song.

"Promise Song," huh.

 _Not bad_ , Felix types.

 _sweet_ 🥰 _i'll run it by the guys_

_Don't take any of Dimitri's suggestions for a tacky subtitle_

_hahaha promise song ~on the condition of falling~_

Felix groans. _You coming by my place after you're done?_

_yeah, i wanna see you! but it'll probably be so late…_

_Doesn't matter. Come over. I'll wait for you_

**today ;**

Felix's mouth can't always translate the feeling in his chest into the right words. It's annoying because it throws a wrench into his songwriting, stalls conversations with awkward lulls, presents the opportunity for nasty reporters to twist his meaning in asshole ways.

It hits him hardest when he's nervous, heart beating too fast for his mouth to catch up. It never used to happen when he's around Sylvain. He blames the collaboration they're doing for their next album, "Once in a Blue Moon". As if they didn't already spend almost every waking second together on tour and in photoshoots and interviews together, Sylvain has started coming over to his house after work, too.

It feels stupid, getting nervous with Sylvain just because he's in Felix's home. Sure, it's the one place Felix fights to keep private when every other aspect of his life feels so exposed. But it's just a house. And it's _Sylvain_. They've known each other since they were teenagers, just trainees at Seiros Entertainment, an agency that believes in raising their talents from a young age.

(By the way, if you're thinking it's creepy that their boss Rhea, a presumably ancient woman of unknown age, likes to nab young boys and have them eating out of the palm of her hand as they await their debut, you aren't alone. There was a whole five-year lawsuit about it, represented by Hresvelg & Associates _._ )

Anyway, Felix is watching Sylvain mess around on the keyboard he's been leaving at Felix's house. There's a whole-ass grand piano sitting in Sylvain's own apartment. His long fingers dance over the pale keys and his body leans into the music. He hums under his breath. It's a simple melody, but it hooks on something inside Felix and won't let go.

So, he picks up his guitar and pulls up a chair next to Sylvain. He picks at a few chords. Sylvain responds with a phrase of notes. Felix plays in time to the drummer in his chest, and Sylvain stays with him, steadfast. They find a progression, agree on the ending to their story.

Like this, every word feels just right.

**eight months from now ;**

More of Sylvain's stuff has populated Felix's house. Expensive, high-brand clothes that fill up the empty half of Felix's closet. A box of old records that Felix installs a shelf for when he gets tired of tripping over it on the floor. Countless pictures of the band through the years, neatly framed.

Ironically, as more of Sylvain's stuff make its way to Felix's house, Sylvain's presence grows more and more sparse. They still see each other at work often enough. But management was right: exposure from Sylvain's TV series has managed to rocket the band back to the glory of their explosive debut. Possibly even beyond that. Ashe proposed naming their next album _Return of the Kings_. Felix doesn't hate it.

Sometime in the dark stretch between midnight and dawn, Felix feels a naked body press against his from behind. He's been listening to Sylvain trip over the shoes Felix never remembers to put away and stumble around the bathroom, groggily going through his hygiene routine. 

Summer is in full swing, and Sylvain hates the heat, so Felix keeps the house a chilly 69F for him. Sylvain's skin is cool by the time he slips under the sheets.

His mouth tastes like toothpaste when Felix twists around for a kiss. His palms press hot against Felix's waist, then smooth up his chest.

"God, I missed you," he breathes.

"We spent all morning at the same photoshoot," Felix replies.

"We weren't alone," Sylvain says. "Or naked. I didn't get to touch you."

" _You_ were pretty much naked." Felix mouths at Sylvain's bottom lip, slipping his fingers into his hair. "You smell like my shampoo."

"It smells good," Sylvain says. "Dries out the curls, though."

"Bring over your own stuff, then. Not like you're shy about doing that."

A half-beat as Sylvain tries to read Felix through the darkness. "Are you complaining?"

Felix runs his mouth along Sylvain's stubbly jawline. "Wish I lived with _you_ instead of just your stuff."

The arm around his waist tightens. "Are you asking or just…musing?"

"I miss you, too," Felix admits. "Bring the four things left in your apartment. Come live with me here."

"One of those four things is a grand piano. You have to address her by her full name, Ariana Grand Piano, and she needs a temperature-controlled, humidity-controlled room and lots of tender care—"

"Sylvain, shut _up_ ," Felix groans and kisses him until they drop off, clinging to each other.

They're warmer together than they are apart.

**four months from now ;**

Sylvain is turning twenty-five this year. He's not a stupid teenager longing for his best friend and using anyone and everyone to fill his place anymore. His face doesn't appear in the tabloids every week. He's trying, at least, to grow out of his self-destructive tendencies. He has this under control.

Except for the fact that he has no clue what the fuck he's doing.

He wonders if he and Felix would have taken almost a decade to get together if they were just normal people. Would they be living together by now? Maybe they'd exchange texts if one or the other was coming home late, enjoy sweet little goodbye/hello kisses by the door, take turns washing the dishes or do them together. Have matching mugs. Get a cat or dog and name it Excalibur or something else sword-related. Sylvain would clean out Felix's bathtub, and Felix would notice and say, "Looks good. Thanks."

Well, he's doing the bathtub anyway. Clearly, cleanliness does not run in the Fraldarius blood, and Sylvain refuses to stew in moldy waters.

Later, around 11PM, Sylvain's filling out an interview questionnaire when Felix comes home, grumpy and tired from a live radio show. It sounds like he almost side-tackles down the front door. He begins to grunt something at Sylvain before his phone goes off with the ringtone that Sylvain has realized means it's his brother. Felix disappears into his bedroom to take the call. A little while later, Sylvain hears the water pipes groan and the shower squeal on.

Felix takes fast showers when he doesn't have Sylvain in there to distract him, so Sylvain takes this as his cue to start heating up the pasta he made for dinner. After he lays everything out on the table, he picks up where he left off in describing his "favorite spot to kiss other than the lips".

When Felix trudges back out into the kitchen, he starts scarfing down the food without any indication of having noticed the renewed sparkle of his master bathroom. Inwardly, Sylvain lets out a wistful sigh. Dreams are for sleeping, huh.

He hears Felix place his plate into the sink, then approach the couch. He takes the questionnaire and casts it aside before placing himself in Sylvain's lap instead. He leans over to rest his head on Sylvain's shoulder.

"Thanks."

Sylvain puts his hands on Felix's thighs, gives them a gentle squeeze. "No problem. Did you have enough to eat?"

"Yeah." Felix nuzzles his nose into the crook of Sylvain's neck. "And for cleaning the bathtub, too. It was getting gross."

It's not the big moment in movies where all of a sudden the world is recolored in the main character's eyes. But perhaps in real life there isn't just one Big Moment so much as a series of these smaller ones.

_Just called to hear your voice._

_I'll wait up for you, no matter how late._

_Thanks for cleaning my moldy bathtub._

Is Sylvain just easy for Felix? Maybe. But isn't that just what it means to be in love? Butterflies fly free at every turn. You cling to their every word. Even their _elbows_ are cute.

So what if it took ten years for them to get to where they are? So what if things are hard because they're in the public eye? Things would be hard anyway because Sylvain is Sylvain and Felix is Felix. All that matters is that Sylvain is in love with Felix. He's _stupid_ in love with Felix. He wants this good thing for good and forever. They deserve a shot at that.

**tomorrow ;**

Every year, Seiros Entertainment puts on a Christmas concert featuring all their artists. Felix is supposed to do a backflip during one of the numbers. Easy. He's done thousands of them. He always lands on his feet.

But he and Sylvain—last night, or technically this morning—after they recorded the melody to their song, they—

Felix can still feel the warmth of Sylvain's lips on his. And now, not even twelve hours later, he's been watching Sylvain chat up one of the female venue staff on the other side of the stadium during rehearsal. What the fuck.

When he flies back into the air, his focus drifts for a split-second from spotting his landing. He almost falls off the stage.

Felix is fine. He gave himself a bad scare and so his blood is roaring in his ears, but he's fine. He does not need the ring of people around him, hovering, asking if he's okay. Most of all, he doesn't need Sylvain in his face, looking concerned and trying to grab at his arm. How did he even get here so fast? Did he teleport? Does Sylvain know magic? Did Felix hit his head?

No, he decides, he didn't. He isn't seeing double. There's only one Sylvain. For Felix, there's always been just the one, but for Sylvain, there's been many, so many, and Felix is just a drop in the ocean. That shit sucks. That fucking sucks.

"Let go," he hisses, whipping his arm out of Sylvain's hand.

"Felix…?" Sylvain's eyes fill with hurt and confusion, and Felix might've dealt with that better if he wasn't feeling the same, underneath his humiliation.

So instead, he flees the stage with his tail between his legs.

**six months from now ;**

Their summer concert tour is still in full swing, but they're always planning a year out. What's their next single going to be? Their last one was a ballad, so something uptempo would be good. Recently, Flayn from upper management asked if they'd consider releasing a Christmas song. Do a good one, and it'll be a long-seller. Felix thinks about how grumpy Ingrid gets around the holidays because Sylvain plays nothing but "All I Want for Christmas is You" in the car.

She punishes him by shoving all the interview questionnaires no one else has time for at him. That, and he's the best at shitting out of his pen. He's a pro at giving the answers the fans expect from his public persona, but with just enough of a plus alpha to keep it interesting. Ashe and Dimitri give the questions too much thought, take too long with them. Felix gives too few fucks about his word choice. And it's really more interesting watching Dedue bewilder interviewers with his monosyllabic answers and silent nods in person than on paper.

They're always given pre-prints of their articles to check over. Most of the time, Felix doesn't bother, but this piece Ingrid slides his way features [Sylvain sitting in a tub with a thin, white button-up clinging to his skin](https://twitter.com/twv_meli/status/1340436342816182272). His freckles sparkle under the scant light that slants across his cheekbones. He's tipping back water from a plastic bottle and peering down the length of it at the camera with smoldering, suggestive eyes.

Felix remembers Annette using the phrase "thirst trap" to describe Sylvain's magazine spreads. Felix's throat is feeling a little dry.

His eyes fall down past the expanse of wet, exposed chest toward the few lines of editorial:

> _Q: If you were to kiss your lover anywhere other than on the lips, where would it be?_
> 
> _A: Hmm...I guess, on the back of the neck?_  
>  _Yeah, on the nape._  
>  _I'd embrace them from behind and put my mouth there…_

Oh. He's talking about Felix. 

Felix rubs a hand over the back of his neck, over the place Sylvain likes to bury his head early in the morning, before he's fully awake, while he waits for Felix to finish making his infamous Fraldarius 3X coffee. Thousands of people will buy this issue, many of them specifically for Sylvain's spread, and Felix is the only one who'll be privy to the true meaning of Sylvain's carefully crafted words.

Once Felix starts paying attention, he sees traces of himself in every turn of phrase. He wonders when he'd so successfully infiltrated the tiniest crevices of Sylvain's mind.

He thinks: _It's mutual, you know_.

**ten months from now ;**

Ultimately, the event that seals the deal is that Felix's rusty showerhead explodes while they're fucking under the spray.

"If you move in with me," Felix says, wet and irritated and still horny, "I'll let you install that ridiculous double waterfall you've always wanted in here."

They spend the weekend before Halloween clearing space for Ariana Grand Piano. Not many people know this, but the house that Felix currently lives in is actually his childhood home. It hasn't seen a good clean since his mother passed away...twenty years ago?

Rodrigue was always off being an overworked hotshot music producer, Glenn was being held up as the up-and-coming superstar of the idol world before the accident, and Felix has been preoccupied with being a rebellious teenager for fifteen years. He realized pretty young that when people say they don't have the time for something, what they really mean is that they don't have the _care_ for it.

Felix doesn't know who invited the managers and rest of the band to assist in clearing two decades worth of debris, but here they all are. Every eight minutes or so, someone will unearth a picture of young Felix. They'll _ohhhhh_ like a bat signal and the rest will flock to collectively _awwww_.

God fucking dammit.

With all the excitement over old home videos of Felix tottering around like a penguin (and some real decluttering here and there), the herd eventually wears themselves out. Feed them cheese and carbs for dinner, and they're all out like a light by 7PM, napping in a pile on his living room rug like a litter of kittens. Lions are feline, too, Felix supposes.

At around 8:30, he gets a call from Glenn. He takes it in his room. Afterwards, he heads back upstairs, figuring he'd try to get through a little more sorting. He's in Rodrigue's old office when he hears footsteps in the hallway. He's got his head buried in a box of his mom's stuff and doesn't bother turning when the door creaks open, knowing just who's found him.

"Wow, I don't think I've ever been in here before," Sylvain says. "All these records on the wall stuff your dad produced?"

"Some of them were Mom's songs," Felix replies distractedly, pulling out a wrinkly bomber jacket with a giant fleur-de-lis embroidered in electric blue on the back. "Fuck. This was in with the rest of her merch. Did people really _buy_ this?"

"It was the 90s," Sylvain offers.

Felix keeps digging. He pulls out flower crowns, custom matchboxes, as well as something lacy that he identifies too late. He flings it back into the box as if it's caught on fire. 

He sighs. "Glenn called."

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Sylvain's posture straighten in interest. "Oh yeah?"

"Hm."

"About what?"

"The old man's going to be in town for the holidays, apparently. Said he wanted to take him out to dinner. Asked if I wanted to come."

"Why don't you invite them here?" Sylvain suggests.

Felix bites his lip. "The three of us don't have nice memories of living in this house together."

"It's not too late to make some. Seems like you all care enough to try, anyway," Sylvain says.

"Why do you say that?"

"Your brother calls to check in on you, and you always answer. Your dad talks about how proud of you he is all the time."

Felix frowns. "No he doesn't."

"He's always bringing up the band in interviews and on TV. We owe 100% of our free promo to him," Sylvain says. "His favorite songs are all the ones you wrote."

"He's never once said that to me," Felix grumbles.

Sylvain laughs, shrugging. "Maybe he's shy. Runs in the family."

A piece of glitter flutters down from where Sylvain hovers over him. Felix catches it on his finger and looks up. He blinks. "Where'd you get that."

"Took you long enough to notice." Sylvain grins, bobs his head from head to side to set the little bells on the reindeer headband jingling. "You kept this."

"The costume lady gave it to me," Felix says, defensively.

"Aww, c'mon Felix, you can admit to sentimentality," Sylvain coos. "Did you keep it as a memento of the first time we confessed our feelings to each other?"

" _No_ ," Felix stresses, face burning. He narrows his eyes. "And you were the only one who confessed."

Sylvain tilts his head. "Really? That's not how I remember it."

"Then you're wrong."

"No, no, I don't think so." Sylvain strokes his chin. "I remember you were pissed at me about something. Been avoiding me all week. And when I finally managed to corner you right before the concert, you went off about how you'd been in love with me for ages and ages and finally couldn't take it anymore that we weren't together—"

"I did _not_ , under any terms—"

"But you _did_ —" 

**a week from now ;**

So, here is, objectively, how it went down:

A snowstorm had swept into the area an hour before the Christmas concert, so the staff pushed back the starting time to accommodate last-minute delays in traffic. By the time the decision got passed down, everyone had already squeezed into their sequins, donned their feather boas, streaked their cheeks with glitter. The whole "ensemble," as that purple guy who manages Golden Deer likes to call it.

Felix lost the intraband rock-paper-scissors tournament, so he's been stalking around the greenroom with a sparkly reindeer headband. Dimitri was the second-place loser. He looks much too happy about his Santa hat. The grinch in Felix wants to take away his happiness.

But since Dimitri is not, for once, the one he's pissed at, he goes on a walk. Not that there are even many places he's allowed to go inside the venue. He makes it all the way to the tunnels under the stage before he realizes he's being followed.

He walks faster and faster until he's jogging, then ramps up to a sprint when his stalker refuses to give it up already.

"Come on, Felix!" Sylvain calls out, voice echoing against the cement walls. "You're gonna wear yourself out before the concert." Felix ignores him, but does slow back down to a light jog. Behind him, Sylvain is huffing, "All right, _fine_. You're wearing _me_ out, and I gotta do that crazy rollerskating number later."

"This is what you get for slacking on your training menu," Felix spits out over his shoulder. "You're going to hurt yourself one day if you don't keep yourself in shape."

"Well, lately, you haven't really given me the impression that you care what happens to me one way or another," Sylvain says from just behind Felix's left side. Sylvain doesn't try to touch him, not at first.

Felix crosses his arms in front of his chest, stubbornly refusing to meet his eye. "I care about the band. You're part of the band."

"That's all it is, huh," Sylvain says with a low chuckle that presses into Felix's back like needles.

Felix whips around. "Well, what is it to you? Ten years together, we have one lousy kiss, and the next day, you're flirting with the girl who does the lights."

"The girl who—" Sylvain's mouth flops open and closed, flummoxed. He looks down at the ground, then back up at Felix. His expression is shadowed, unreadable. "The kiss wasn't that bad, was it?"

Felix throws his hands up in the air in defeat. "What the fuck do you even want from me, Sylvain? You want me to say you rocked my world on the floor of my living room? You want me to say that it was everything I've wanted since I was thirteen? You want me to say—"

"Felix." Sylvain's voice is gentle, and so is his touch on Felix's cheek. His earrings catch light as he moves in, takes a step into Felix's space. "I just want you to tell me the truth."

Felix swallows. His heart won't stop bodyslamming his ribs. "Why don't you tell me?"

"I'm in love with you," Sylvain answers without missing a beat. "That's why I kissed you."

The words echo, on and on and on. Sylvain's hand is shaking. His eyes are bright and searching. Sylvain is _nervous_ , and wait fuck _shit_ , he just said—did he just say he's in _love_ with Felix? The concept of language itself dies in Felix's mouth. He doesn't know what to do with his tongue.

Except put it in Sylvain's mouth, apparently.

In the dark tunnel underneath the stage, he kisses Sylvain, and Sylvain kisses him back.

Under the blinding spotlights of center stage, he points to Sylvain during the finale of the concert, when all the groups come together to sing "All I Want for Christmas for You" and finds that Sylvain is already pointing back.

Is it really that simple?

Guess so.

**a year from now ;**

Over day-after-Christmas dinner, Rodrigue and Glenn reminisce about how the whole family used to reenact scenes from Lion King for his bedtime story. The "friend" Glenn brings over gets a hell a kick out of Glenn's baby Felix imitations. Felix doesn't miss the fond looks he keeps slipping Glenn's way when Glenn isn't looking. He's quite stealthy about it, for being the mountain of a man that he is.

Speaking of big guys with bright hair who like to play the fool…

Felix peeks over to his right. Sylvain is watching him with his chin rested on a hand, eyes soft and glowing in the golden light of the formal dining room.

...Do he and his brother share the same taste in men?

The mere possibility leaves Felix shaken until he realizes that even if— _if—_ this were true, _Glenn_ is the creep who went for the same type of guy as his little brother, not the other way around. Because, see, Felix met Sylvain when he was only thirteen, and if he allows himself some honesty, he's been in love with him for almost just as long.

Who meets the love of their life at age thirteen?

Felix fucking Fraldarius, that's who.

After dinner, their guests settle down by the crackling fireplace, chatting in subdued tones. The Christmas tree is up in the living room for the first time in over a decade. Ariana Grand Piano sits snuggled next to her dedicated hybrid humidifier/dehumidifier unit. This year, instead of looping Mariah Carey, he's going to play a Christmas medley live. He's been practicing for weeks, determined to win the approval of the Fraldarius family. Felix didn't think he would care that his boyfriend cares about something like that, but the way Sylvain cares is just so goddamn endearing. 

It fills this old, once-abandoned home with more warmth than Felix knows what to do with.

"You looked like you were having a good time at dinner," Sylvain points out as he dries the dishes Felix scrubbed. He smiles, tilting his head. "Didn't seem like you were actually paying attention to the conversation, though. What were you thinking about?"

 _That I'm in love with you_. 

_I want to taste the laugh you save for me and touch your freakishly long eyelashes and rock your world every fucking day until we grow too old and crickety for rocking_.

Felix isn't great with words. Sometimes, he can't find the right way to put the feelings from his chest into his mouth. But this, right here?

It's a feeling that needs no translation.

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays, everyone!
> 
> [RT this fic](https://twitter.com/orgiastique/status/1340436941012123649) | [my other sylvix stuff](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=33627679&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=orgiastique)


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